Last Light Falling (21 page)

The day begins to break, and I prepare myself for one last night of real sleep, meditating on every word God has spoken to me. As I lay down to rest, everyone else follows soon after, retreating to their makeshift beds.

A sudden thunderous roar of explosions surges through the ground, waking us from our slumber. While the lights dim on and off from the quake-like rumble, a sudden increase of adrenaline promptly gets everyone up and dressed. After a few minutes, the rumbling secedes to a small tremble, and slowly things calm back down.

Everyone finishes up what they were working on the previous day and prepares to deploy. Gabe’s in the knife room, sitting in the corner facing the wall with his head down in his knees. I can tell he’s been crying what I assume can only be about Juliana, but I don’t say anything; I give him a few minutes to grieve over losing her.

I sit down next to him and put my arms around his shoulders. “We’ll find her,” I say to comfort his pain.

“Arena, its time,” Niki says quietly as she stands at the door.

“You ready for this, dear brother?” I say to him quietly. He looks at me placidly and nods his head with uncertainty. I load a full clip into his gun and hand it to him before I slip into the other room to gear up.

The jacket that Niki modified fits perfectly and is ready to be married with weapons. I first place four Beretta 92FS pistols in my front
jacket where Niki has so elegantly sewn perfect sheaths for these guns followed by six fully loaded clips. Next, I tuck six stealth and six black-widow throwing knives in the sides of my securely knit jacket. Two daggers rest tightly against the sides of my hips, and my favorite scorpion dagger is nestled in a special sheath that has been perfectly fashioned near the small of my back.

I put on an extremely lightweight quiver of titanium arrows, some with razor-tipped edging, and some with heat-seeking explosive tips designed by Gabe. Lastly, my go-to weapons of choice: the two Yoshihara Kuniie Saku katana Samurai swords crossing perfectly into the well-designed sheathes on the back of my jacket. Surprisingly, the weapons attached to my body do not feel heavy at all. In fact, with the tightly knitted fabric in the jacket and pants, I feel comfortable and amazingly mobile.

I feel a little nauseous as I watch Henry and Finnegan getting ready, knowing that I may lead one of those two men to their deaths. I go back into the bathroom and splash water on my face to calm my nerves.

While everyone waits for me outside, I muse over the previous events that have led up this point, and wonder if my life will truly end today. I’m struggling to understand all of this, but I’m finally realizing the truths behind my fate now.

I walk out of the bathroom to be greeted by silence. Not a sound or word is said; they just sit there waiting for some instruction or a speech of some kind, which I’m not good at. I really have no words to say. I look down and notice the Bible that I found in the cathedral is sitting on the table in front of me. I suddenly remember a passage that stuck out to me when I was younger and read aloud from the book of Ecclesiastes:

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens; A time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to give up, a time to keep and a time to throw away, a time to tear and a time to mend, a time to be silent and a time to speak, a time to love and a time to hate, a time for war and a time for peace.

“Today is a new season, and it is our time to unleash His fury. Whatever vengeance you seek, do not let it be by your own will, for it is
by the hand of God that His wrath will be done, and we who have been chosen to do His will have kept a covenant to deliver that wrath. Remember where you came from and who you are. You stand firm in your conviction because it will be the only thing that will save you now,” I say with passion. There is a moment of silence as everyone ponders what I said.

“Let us pray,” says Father Joseph, “Dear Father, forgive us for what we have done and what we are prepared to do. You have freed us from our sins, but our hearts still keep us in bondage. Change and humble our hearts, dear Lord. Protect your children and give them the strength and accuracy to do thy will. Grant us peace to help the broken-hearted and weakened spirits. Have mercy on those who turn and fall from your grace. Let us not pass what is undone, so we can fulfill your will.
In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spirit s Sancti, Amen.”

With the Camaro fully packed with ammunition, I say my last farewell to Father Joseph and Niki before getting in the car. I feel less anxious now about our journey to the Capitol, but still determined to stop the president’s warmongering over the people of this dying nation. While his time will come to rectify what he has done, my only sense of urgency right now is to find out where Myra, Daniel, and the rest of the innocent people have been taken.

We make our way around the city to the east so we are not totally exposed. We search the entire day from a distance for signs of rebellion, but there is absolutely nothing indicating any kind of activity, so we decide to move in closer to the city. While we drive downtown, there is a dead calm in the air. There’s not one living soul that welcomes our arrival, nor a single federal officer who awaits us.

Thousands of body bags lie scattered outside of buildings, and the only sign of life that remains here is the death of a thousand screams still lingering in the humid air. It’s a bloody massacre.

There is so much death that surrounds us that not enough body bags can cover the remaining carnage that lies rotting in the sun. Gabe tightens his fists and looks out the window, worriedly wondering if one of those bags is occupied by Juliana. I can only assume that the dead are from those who refused to cooperate or defied authority and revolted, but you can be sure of one thing—the rules of engagement do not apply here.

We exit the car and search for clues that may help us find where they have relocated those who have been detained. I cautiously open the doors to a small department store, preparing myself for an ambush, but all I see is a deserted place that has been ransacked. Gabe notices a set of heavy tire tracks that trail off around the corner, which can only mean that these were either made from large military vehicles or from a loaded-down bus.

We follow the tracks around the corner, and like a punch in the face, the smell of rotting flesh blows through the air. Hundreds of decaying corpses, including women and children, cover the front lawn
of the library and scatter down the street. The bloated bodies are such an overwhelming and disturbing sight that my anger toward these evil cowards is becoming more malevolent. The stench makes me nauseous, as I cover my mouth and nose with my hand. “This is not a town, this is a massive grave,” I say in disgust.

I just don’t understand why the American government would do something so atrocious. Relocating citizens is one thing, but slaughtering your own people. For what? What could they possibly gain from this? There has to be some kind of political deterrent forced on us by another government.

Seeing this much carnage of innocence nearly destroys my heart as I walk through ravaged streets. As I turn over one of the bodies of the children on the grass, I almost lose control of my emotions. The young boy couldn’t be older than six years old, still clutching his stuffed bear. I examine his body a little closer and surprisingly notice that no gunshot wounds are present. His mouth, bluish in color, stands out against his ashen face, and his veins protrude just underneath the skin like a spider web on his neck.

These innocent people were not revolting or struggling to escape from authorities in any manner whatsoever, nor do I see evidence that they were armed to do so; they were trying to flee for their lives when they became asphyxiated by something.

I immediately rise to my feet and turn to the others. “These people were poisoned,” I say with certainty.

“What?” Finnegan curiously asks. He and Henry examine more of the bodies that surround us, and it is revealed that none have been taken down by gunshots or any sharp objects that shows any physical wounds. It’s evident that the only weapon that could have done this is an invisible one; these people were gassed.

“Arena!” Gabe calls from a distance. “These tire tracks lead across 7th Street and toward the highway.”

As I walk closer toward Gabe, I suddenly spot someone darting across a window in the supermarket. I quickly draw one my guns, and everyone stops in their tracks and stares at me.

“What is it?” Henry asks.

“Right there!”

“Where?”

“Did you see that?” I shout in a panic. “There’s someone alive in there.” I point at the supermarket. Everyone loads a weapon and readies themselves for anything as we walk closer. I ask Henry and
Finnegan to position themselves in the front of the store while Gabe and I take the back entrance.

We slowly open the back door and enter the premise with caution. The lights are still on, but not a soul exists as we walk down each empty aisle. I ask Gabe to go down one end of the store as I go around the other side to hopefully trap whoever is running around in here. Another image flashes past my left side, and I quickly turn in that direction of the aisle. Obviously, whoever is in here is frightened and not smart enough to stay still and hide.

I hug the side of the aisle and look out of the corner of my eye. I can see the back of a shoe about three aisles down, poking out just enough to get a clean shot and immobilize the person. I look up and notice one of the ceiling mirrors just above my right side. Gabe is one aisle away from the runner, so I cross the main aisle over to where I can sneak up from the back.

I hold my position, knowing that one more step from Gabe will cause the man to take off around the corner right into my gun. Gabe decides to go the opposite way, making the runner back up from his position and into the main aisle where I have him trapped. He slowly walks backward while I quietly and carefully raise my gun. I wait patiently for a few more steps before I make my move. I quickly lean in and grab his neck, and point the gun pointed at his head. He doesn’t hesitate to throw up his hands and quickly kneels to the floor. I push his neck downward, while Gabe moves in front of him with his gun drawn on his chest.

The man is dressed like a soldier, with a full gasmask on, but because the loosely fit clothes appear to be several sizes larger than his physique, I can only assume he’s not a federal officer. “Take off the mask,” I say aggressively.

He slowly takes off the mask and holds his breath, as if he is desperately trying not to breathe the same air that ultimately killed the others outside. I wait for him to let out a breath of air just as a parent would do to their child who refuses to breath out of defiance.

After about fifteen seconds of waiting, Gabe spots a fruit pie on an end cap next to him, and he and I have a debate over which apple pie brand is better, Mrs. Bairds or Hostess. I really have no favorite in the matter—my intention is to irritate this man until he is forced to talk. His brows furrow, and he crosses his arms like a small child who is angry over not receiving any attention.

He finally lets out a much-needed breath of air. “Seriously, you’re going to argue over some damn fruit filling from an assorted brand of
snacks, which by the way contains a large amount of high fructose corn syrup—”

“Shut it!” I shout, waving my gun close to his disheveled face.

“You threaten a very hungry man at gunpoint? You should be ashamed of yourself. Not exactly a nice way greet someone. I bet you’re very unpleasant at home too—” .

“Shut the fuck up!”

“Such nasty words from a sweet, little girl. Try nicely.”

“
Please
… shut the fuck up!” I say.

“Well, aren’t you a delight.”

By his scraggily beard and dirty face, I can tell he is just a vagrant who happened to wander about in the store and is no threat to us, so I toss him one of the fruit pies on the display. He pauses as he catches the pie and looks at me with his eyebrows raised. “I’m not really a fruit-filled pastry kind of guy, perhaps you have a Twinkie on the shelf,” he says as he smiles. I just roll my eyes and lower my gun. This homeless man is obviously just trying to survive, but not without some obnoxious ornery behavior at my expense. He may be of no harm, but he’s annoying as hell.